


in loving memory

by symmetrophobic



Category: GOT7
Genre: M/M, family!AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-05
Updated: 2018-04-05
Packaged: 2019-04-18 20:46:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14221479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/symmetrophobic/pseuds/symmetrophobic
Summary: Some people just didn't say "I love you" - they showed it to you through the little things, like doing the laundry, or driving you home, or even just remembering that you're there. And Jaebum loved them all very, very much.





	in loving memory

**Author's Note:**

> it's been a while (and this is what i come back with, i'm sorry T_T). this was based on one of the earlier prototypes i had in mind for the grandfather paradox! so yep ;;
> 
> ty to the loveliest athletic bean tj for beta <3

highlight for trigger warning: graphic depictions of character death

* * *

 

 

“How was the visit to the doctor’s?”

Jaebum is tired. This is nothing new. Fatigue and children are a package. So are Jinyoung and children. And Jaebum and Jinyoung have been a package since before Jaebum can remember.

He’s happy.

“Okay,” he looks into the mug of coffee set out in front of him. Foam bubbles at the sides like clouds, and he wonders if he’s forgotten something. _You’ll never find someone who can deal with your attention span_ , Nayeon used to laugh. “The medicine’s on the dresser. Were meds always this expensive?”

He sneezes into a tissue. Honestly, being sick is the shittiest thing in the world. The insomnia just makes it worse.

Jinyoung leans over behind him, arms wrapping around his neck. His voice is like cotton, warm and soft. “Get better soon. The kids are waiting.”

Jaebum nods, tipping the coffee back along with a couple of painkillers, wincing when the liquid scalds his throat.

*

“How’s the slides for the meeting?”

Mark peers over the top of his computer, before sinking gracefully back into the chair on the other side of his desk. Jaebum grumbles indistinctly, waving as though to shoo him away. “Almost done. Why are you here again?”

The promotion at the start of this year’s the reason why Jaebum gets his own office, now – and part of the reason why they can get a lot of other nice things. Like the quality clothes that don’t rip too easily for the three kids. The new dishwasher and washing machine that work faster and quieter so they can do the chores after the kids have gone to bed. The new white seven-seater family Toyota Sienta with the (“super cool robot!!” according to Youngjae) automated sliding doors that open with the push of a button, and the remote control for the radio that Bambam always claims dominance over.

There’s not much more Jaebum can ask for, to be honest. Except maybe improved health.

“Just asking man, chill,” Mark rolls his eyes, but doesn’t make a move. He’s been hanging out around here a lot more recently – probably because Finance just moved to the block opposite and Mark gets a clear view of their department from Jaebum’s window. “Too tough for a little concern?”

“Concern my ass – or Sana’s, anyway.”

“ _Fuck_ you,” Mark laughs. “The view through _my_ window’s a lot better, I’ll have you know.”

“That doesn’t help your case a lot,” Jaebum rolls his eyes. “Maybe you should stop creeping on her and like, you know, _ask her out_ , I don’t know.”

The other man sighs thoughtfully. Can anyone sigh thoughtfully? “Maybe.”

To himself (and only himself) Jaebum wonders what it’d be like to be Mark, over whom wars have been fought (anyone who needs a definition of _war_ need only look as far as his ex-boyfriend) and decides that he’d rather not know. Not getting enough sleep does things to a person – one of which is a lack of patience.

“We’re not getting any younger,” Jaebum says, in classic blunt Jaebum fashion. “Time to think about settling down, having kids, maybe?”

Mark looks at him, expression unreadable, like he’s caught between understanding and thinking of something to say. “Yeah. Maybe.”

Jaebum grins despite the exhaustion. “I’ll be your wingman. I can tell some pretty bad jokes to make you look good, I’ll have you know.”

“I’ll let you know if there are openings,” Mark snorts, taking out his phone as he walks off. “Tell the kids that their favourite uncle Mark said hi, by the way.”

*

The house is quiet when Jaebum steps out of the bathroom.

Jinyoung’s nowhere to be seen, so he wanders cautiously into the kids’ room after taking his medication (it would be hell if any of _them_ got sick now), glancing over each bunk silently. The little dinosaur nightlight they’d gotten for Bambam a couple of years ago glows a comforting orange in the corner.

Youngjae is already fast asleep, so Jaebum arranges the Robocar Poli blanket around him, cradling the back of the six-year-old’s head in his hand. His little feet are poking out from under the blanket, pajama pants above his ankles – kids grow so _fast_. They’re going to have to get him a new set, soon. “Daddy?”

Jaebum chuckles tiredly in surprise, nudging his cheek. “Why aren’t you sleeping?”

“Why did you come home so late?” The boy yawns petulantly, rubbing his eyes. Any more demanding, and he’d sound like Jinyoung.

“Daddy had a lot of work. Daddy has more things to do at the office this year,” Jaebum says quietly, resting a hand on Youngjae’s back. “Did you do all your homework? You didn’t give Papa any problems, right?”

Youngjae thinks for a moment. “Nope.”

“Good kid. You’d better go to sleep now, don’t want to be grumpy for kindergarten tomorrow,” Jaebum rubs his back, before turning to the double bunk in the room.

Bambam’s eyes are closed but he’s not sleeping, on his top bunk – Jaebum can tell by the way he’s breathing. He used to get nightmares, when they’d first adopted him, and he’d climb down and sneak into Jaebum and Jinyoung’s room to curl up in a ball at the foot of their bed. He never made a sound. He always felt the need to prove himself, one way or another.

“’Night, Bambam-ah,” he says quietly, patting the boy’s back. He sees the five-year-old open one eye to peek once he takes his hand away, then quickly close it again, and chuckles.

Then he kneels by the lower bunk, smiling absent-mindedly. Yugyeom’s watching him sleepily, blanket up to his nose, stuffed panda clutched loosely to his chest.

The youngest of the three hadn’t chosen this bunk – in fact, he rarely chose anything: where he slept, where he sat at the table, which seat he got in the car. That’s the thing with having so many kids, that the quiet ones always get what’s left over, because loud ones make the noise when they don’t get what they want, and there were a _lot_ of loud ones in this family.

“How was work, Daddy?” Yugyeom murmurs, half into his panda bear. He’s the only one to ever ask that. It makes him sound ridiculously grown up – Jaebum wonders if he’d picked it up from Jinyoung.

Jaebum sighs, reaching over to brush hair out of Yugyeom’s eyes fondly. “Work was okay. How was being at home today?”

“Okay,” Yugyeom says quietly. “We had cookies.”

“Only cookies?”

“Chocolate cookies.”

Jaebum laughs, ruffling Yugyeom’s hair. The little boy used to wander into their room after having nightmares, but he’d stopped after Bambam laughed at him for it. Yugyeom snuffles into his worn panda plushie, already drifting off into sleep, but not before he asks again.

“Are you getting better?”

If there’s one thing Jaebum’s good at, Jinyoung used to roll his eyes and say over dinner with Mark, it’s bluffing. The man puffs out his chest and smiles bracingly. “Of course. I’m not even coughing anymore.”

It’s a lie, of course – this bug is really starting to kill him. But none of them need to know that. Especially Yugyeom.

He almost jumps when he feels a hand on his back. It’s Jinyoung, features blurred in the darkness, pulling gently but insistently on his arm. “Time for bed, hyung, or you’re never going to get well at this rate.”

Jaebum stands to leave, letting the weight of Jinyoung’s hand around his anchor him.

The kids see him go, quiet, beady eyes watchful, even after Jinyoung closes the door softly behind them.

*

The weekend means things to do. Errands to run. Places to bring the kids.

“When’s your appointment with the doctor?” Jinyoung asks over breakfast. Bambam and Youngjae are playing in their room, after Youngjae had come home from his Taekwondo classes. Yugyeom’s probably drawing or playing with his trucks somewhere around the house. The youngest does play with the other boys most of the time, but his crayons always end up getting stolen when he’s drawing, and he doesn’t like arguing to get them back. Jaebum found him on Bambam’s upper bunk, once, hiding at the far corner of the bed and drawing monster trucks on the sketch pad Jinyoung had bought for his birthday.

“It’s getting better,” Jaebum says thickly into a tissue. “It’s fine.”

He sounds like hell, he knows. He’s been trying to stay away from the kids these few weeks, but it’s only a matter of time before they catch whatever he’s down with. If only he were able to get some _sleep_ …

Jinyoung’s biting at his lip, watching him with concern. “I’ll drive you there.”

Jaebum sighs, as Youngjae runs over, Bambam close behind, climbing onto a chair to reach for some of the apple slices Jinyoung had prepared. “It’s okay, I’ll take the bus.”

“Are you sure?”

“ _Yes_ , Jinyoung, I’m _sure_ ,” Jaebum rubs the heel of his palm into his eyes, trying to quell the headache that’s rising. “The kids. Someone needs to take care of the kids.”

Jinyoung doesn’t say anything after that.

Bambam and Youngjae start squabbling over apple slices. The sound is jarring, even for someone so used to it, sinking bullets into Jaebum’s already sore mind.

“Bambam-ah,” he says, finally turning around. “Take two apple slices and give your brother two.”

The younger boy pushes out his lower lip, eyes red, before shoving the apple slices at Youngjae and storming off to their room.

Jinyoung sighs. “I’ll settle it.”

Jaebum lifts Youngjae onto his lap as Jinyoung leaves, rubbing the little boy’s back tiredly. “It’s okay, Youngjae-ah, your brother’s just tired today. Eat your apple slices.”

“Are you getting better, Daddy?” Yugyeom asks, seated at his little booster seat at the table, an apple slice clutched tightly in his right hand, panda bear in his other arm. He has a knack for appearing like this, out of nowhere, people would say. But Jaebum always could tell when he came and went.

Yugyeom just never made noise. He just showed up, sometimes, quiet, curious, wide eyes watching hopefully, like a silent reminder not to forget him, like everyone else did.

Jaebum made a practice out of keeping an eye on him, like an unsaid promise that he hadn’t.

“Daddy’s just a little bit sick,” Jaebum laughs. ”I’ll be all better soon, just you wait.”

He looks down, sees Youngjae gnawing uneasily on an apple slice as he watches him, like he’s waiting for some sort of reassurance. He’s more easily affected by arguments than his brothers, something Jaebum knows.

He draws the boy closer, pats his back, the smell of apple slices and grape kids’ soap permeating the air. “You okay, Youngjae-ah?”

Youngjae nods, then slides off Jaebum’s lap, still holding his apple slice, wandering to the room where Jinyoung is with Bambam.

So Jaebum stands, and gets ready to leave.

*

“You okay?”

Mark’s still watching him. Jaebum blows his nose, tossing the tissue into the already-full bin. He’s taken down the little pocket mirror from the corner of his desktop – his dark circles were starting to frighten even him.

“Should I not be?”

Mark shrugs. “Dunno.”

He looks uneasy – still hanging around here, which means his ex-boyfriend is paying one of his regular visits to the department, probably. Why else would Mark be here?

The older man looks like he wants to say something, then changes tack. “Hey, you were looking for some boxes for the kids’ stuff the other time right? I think they left some here after unpacking the new desktops.”

New boxes. Yeah. So they could have a somewhere to put their toys back into, so he and Jinyoung wouldn’t have to strain his back trying to keep the toys on the shelves. He honestly hadn’t _realised_ how many toys the kids were starting to have, thanks to the multitude of doting (and single) self-proclaimed uncles and aunts they had.

Bambam wanted a box to play rocket ship in, Youngjae wanted a box to (and Jaebum quotes) sleep in, and Yugyeom wanted a toy box, Jaebum remembers distantly. The boy had seen a magic one in an American children’s picture book. He’d only mentioned it once, as an afterthought. But Jaebum remembered.

“Thanks,” Jaebum says. “I’ll ask when Jinyoung’s free to drop by.”

“Not driving to work anymore?”

“Jinyoung needs the car.”

Silence hangs between them for a while. Considering how long they’ve known each other, it’s almost regrettable that Jaebum can’t say anything more.

“You know,” Mark hesitates. “Anytime you need to talk about – about what happened. I’m here. You know that, right?”

Jaebum takes another gulp of scalding coffee. It burns down the lump in his throat. “It’s fine. Thanks. You too.”

*

The weight of the world feels like it’s resting on his ribcage as he holds Jinyoung at night, body warmth ebbing out and trickling over his arms into the mattress.

“What’s on your mind?” The other man whispers, so he doesn’t wake the kids.

It’s difficult to respond when it would be easier to say what _isn’t_.

“I don’t know,” Jaebum says honestly.

Jinyoung nuzzles sleepily into his neck. It rings a bell, of a time when every inch of warmth was another reason for Jaebum to stay.

Now, Jaebum just feels cold.

“Come back to us,” Jinyoung murmurs, almost like a plea.

 _Where?_ Jaebum wants to ask. _I’m already here._

Except _here_ is a place he doesn’t know.

 _Here_ is the place he’s been all along, and now he’s never felt less at home.

*

The house is dark, blackness creeping in little fingers across the white floor, like hands reaching out from the corners.

Jaebum stands outside the kids’ room, a weathered panda doll in his hand. The kids have long gone to sleep, but Yugyeom had left this out here. He doesn’t want to go in in case he wakes them up, though.

He could leave the panda out here, for Yugyeom in the morning, but the boy won’t get to hug it to sleep tonight. Or he could go in and put it where it belongs, but risk waking them up.

Or he could just stand here for the rest of the night. He’s so _tired._

The silence gets to him, eventually. He turns on the soft light in the kitchen and leans the panda carefully against the hot water flask, safely away from the hands on the floor of the living room.

Then he walks back to bed, vaguely registering the green glow of the digital clock telling him it’s five in the morning.

Just one more hour till he can leave for work. It’s not so bad.

*

 _Park Jihyo (1:08am)_  
_oppa, it’d help to understand where hes coming from_  
_you know counterfactual thinking,_ _right_ _?_ _  
__how_ _you_ _undo_ _events_ _in_ _your_ _head_ _and_ _think_ _of_ _how_ _you_ _could_ _change_ _something_ _you_ _did_

 _Park Jihyo (1:10am)_  
_the easier it is to undo something bad you did in your head_ _  
__the_ _greater_ _your_ _regret_

 _Park Jihyo (1:15am)_  
_oppa, we’re here for u both, ok?_ _  
pls talk to us_

*

Jaebum hasn’t smoked a cigarette in years.

And yet, here he is.

It’s been an hour, maybe two. Half the pack is gone. So are the bottles of soju he’d brought up. Jaebum shakes the cigarette pack idly, listening to the comforting rustle of pre-packaged cancer inside.

He drops a cigarette butt, crushing it against the concrete floor of the apartment roof with a ratty rubber sole, simultaneously lighting another one.

“Daddy?”

Jaebum turns bleakly. Yugyeom’s sitting on the ledge of the roof beside him, arm wrapped around his panda plushie. His wide eyes are watching him. “Why are you up here?”

The man smiles weakly, setting the cigarette aside. “Daddy’s tired.”

Yugyeom scoots closer. “Why are you tired?”

 _Why am I tired?_ Jaebum’s been tired for months. It’s the sort of exhaustion that begins at rock bottom and drags you along its surface until you bruise and bleed and think of all the ways it can end.

“Are you getting better?”

Jaebum’s smile feels like glass shards between his lips. He wraps a tentative arm around the boy, then, like it could keep him there forever.

“Daddy’s sorry.”

Something bitter and terrible rises at the back of Jaebum’s throat, turning his chest to lead and stone, and the ground, twelve stories down, seems like the softest pillow.

“Daddy,” Yugyeom says, then, looking up at him, quiet and honest. “Do you miss me?”

Jaebum’s voice wavers, and he smiles again, tears burning down the sides of his face.

“All the time.”

*

Jaebum sits in the driver’s seat. It’s a new car. He’d come home late from work the previous night, and hadn’t been able to sleep much.

Youngjae’s in the passenger side, messing around with the radio. Bambam and Yugyeom are behind. Jinyoung’s gone to buy snacks for the family at the nearby convenience store. They’re parked illegally at the road shoulder.

Yugyeom wants to sleep. He hadn’t been able to sleep the night before because of nightmares. He’d wanted the neck pillow, but Bambam was using it. So he’d taken the cushion, shimmied over to the other side and slept against the side of the car.

Jaebum’s watching worriedly for traffic cameras. Bambam has claimed control over the remote, and he and Youngjae are quarrelling over music choices. Jaebum tells them to keep quiet, to no effect. The noise drills into his head like nails into a wall, derailing his train of thought. He thinks he sees a traffic policeman approaching from the next street, but he can't tell - they're still too far off.

Youngjae reaches back and grabs the remote. Bambam leans forward and hits him.

Jaebum turns around, telling them both sternly to sit down, and tries to pull away the remote from both of them.

It takes just a moment to get it from both of them, but he misjudges from his irritability and pulls too hard. His elbow hits one of the buttons in the panel on his right. He hears the tell-tale beep saying the sliding door is opening. He can’t close it yet, only when it’s fully open – besides, he has to discipline the two over here first.

He forgets.

He forgets that Yugyeom is sleeping on the side.

A car is approaching from behind them in the next lane. The couple inside are arguing. The man turns his eyes from the road for a split second to make a point.

*

The air is still. The trees don’t move. The children are gone, and so’s the couple, so’s Jinyoung. None of this matters anymore.

This is the house Jaebum visits in his head all the time when he closes his eyes. He knows this because he’d built it himself. He’d smelt it in the furnace out of regret, and burned it on the back of his eyelids until he couldn’t see anything else.

Asphalt cuts into Jaebum’s legs as he kneels in the middle of the road, in front of the other car. Yugyeom is cradled in one arm. His little body bends and juts at odd, inhuman angles, and red streams down from the fist-sized dent in his skull, staining his tiny hand-me-down blue Pororo sweater.

He looks up at Jaebum with eyes that don’t move anymore.

“Daddy,” he says, in a voice that sounds like glass shards in flesh. “Don’t forget me, okay?”

*

It’s eleven by the time Jinyoung gets home. He dumps the bags by the door, body aching from exhaustion.

The lights are on. He hears voices. Immediately, his stomach clenches with anxiety, adrenaline kicking into his veins, pushing his body into overdrive.

Jaebum’s shouting.

He sprints towards the kids’ room, heart pounding, pushing open the door.

“… _Never_ , never fucking touch it ever _again_ -…” He smells alcohol and cigarette smoke. The lights are on, casting the room in a stark white glow, and both kids are in the room, frozen like little statues. The moment Jinyoung enters, though, the spell seems to break.

Youngjae’s the first to start crying. Bambam follows, a split second later, both running to him, faces burying themselves in his shirt, like everything bad would go away if they couldn’t see it.

Jinyoung has never seen Jaebum like this before. Anyone’s first instinct would be to shout back, make themselves heard, or to run.

But Jinyoung knows better. Maybe he just saw this coming, and put off the inevitable till it crashed and burned.

“Hyung,” he says, reaching forward.

“ _Don’t_ get into this!” Jaebum points at him, voice cutting through the air like an axe. There’s no hatred in his eyes, only rage. “Don’t _fucking_ get into this, get _out_ of here-…”

“Hyung, calm down,” Jinyoung says quietly. “You’re going to hurt us.”

The fire in Jaebum blinks out for one moment. It’s enough for Jinyoung to herd the kids out of the room, leaving the door open by a crack, before quickly getting them all into main bedroom and turning the mini television on.

“Papa, why is Daddy so angry?” Bambam sniffs, the moment they’re in the room. Youngjae hasn’t stopped crying. “Is it because we took Gyeommie’s toys?”

“Will he hit us?” Youngjae bawls, wide-eyed, clutching his stuffed puppy for security, as Jinyoung picks him up. “Is he angry at us?”

“He’s not angry at any of you,” Jinyoung says firmly, grabbing a tissue from the dresser top, wiping their tears away. Youngjae sniffles, eventually stopping, his chin on Jinyoung’s shoulder. “If anything, he’s just really angry at himself, okay? And he just-…” his voice trembles, by just the slightest bit. “Kept it all to himself. For a really long time.”

*

Jinyoung leaves the kids with cartoons and yoghurt bottles, and slips into the kids’ room with a flask of warm barley water.

It takes him a heart-stopping moment to spy Jaebum, sitting under the window, hidden behind the head of one of the bunk beds. There’s a blue rabbit in one of his hands.

“Hyung?”

“Sorry,” is the first word out of Jaebum’s mouth. His voice sounds like someone ran his voice over sandpaper for hours. But maybe that’s just what happens when you don’t sleep properly for three weeks straight. “I didn’t mean it.”

“You should go apologise to them later.”

“Yeah.”

Jinyoung hands him the open flask, heart easing a little when Jaebum takes it.

He waits one moment, then another, then sinks to his knees beside Jaebum, lips pressed together to keep them from trembling. His arms find their way around Jaebum’s shoulders, cheek pressing into the crown of the other man’s head.

“Why didn’t you _tell_ any of us?”

“I didn’t mean it,” Jaebum repeats, voice empty. Except he’s not referring to tonight anymore.

*

Jinyoung remembers running out of the store the moment he’d heard the screech of tyres exactly where their car should be.

Everyone who didn’t know enough had praised Jaebum for how he acted that day, Jinyoung remembers. How he’d gotten out immediately, pushed Bambam back into the car, reached into the back for a blanket and covered Yugyeom up. Everyone else had been panicking – the driver, his wife, the kids. He’d had everything together, all the way to the hospital, through the funeral, the cremation.

He never shed a tear. That’s just the way Jaebum was. He fought off the things that hurt him and ran from the things he couldn’t. And Jinyoung had been able to pretend it’d all be okay until the nightmares started, until Jaebum stopped driving, until he couldn’t sleep anymore.

*

It takes a moment. Then Jaebum lets out a sob, knees drawn up to his chest, hands clenching into fists till his knuckles are white, and he cries, he cries until patches stain themselves in Jinyoung’s sweater, until tears run down Jinyoung’s face into Jaebum’s hair.

“ _Why_ ,” the word is mutilated with emotion from Jaebum, laden to the point it’s crushing, syllables shaking with every sob, “ _Fuck_ , why, _why_?”

“It wasn’t your fault,” Jinyoung repeats, holding the other man tight, eyes squeezed shut. “It wasn’t your fault.”

“I _forgot him_ , I promised him I would never and I – _fuck-…_ ”

“Pretending it never happened,” Jinyoung says quietly. “Isn’t going to help him or you. We’re never going to forget him, hyung. Just like you never did.”

So Jaebum remembers, and he cries.

*

Of course, Youngjae forgives as easily as he gets upset. He smiles when Jaebum smiles, arms automatically extending - Bambam is warier, taking a moment to warm up.

“Daddy is sorry,” Jaebum says, wrapping the two of them in a hug. “Daddy was really tired. I’ll buy you guys lots of seaweed, okay?”

“Prawn flavour,” Youngjae asserts, still holding onto Jaebum’s neck. “Can you come home earlier, then?”

“Daddy,” Bambam says then, quietly. “Maybe you should see the doctor.”

Jaebum hesitates. Then he nods once, with a tired smile.

“Yeah, maybe I should.”

*

Jinyoung puts up a white shelf in the living room. It’s got pictures of all of them, and a family picture in the middle. The kids decorate the frames, drawing things in markers and sticking plastic badges on the corners. Everyone has different ones – Youngjae’s has puppies and banana milk, Jinyoung's has coffee with a heart on it and bento boxes, and Bambam's has lots of different clothes.  Yugyeom’s picture frame has a little model truck, chocolate milk, Pororo stickers and a cloud in the sky.

They gather a little bag of toys the week after too, based on the counsellor’s suggestions. It’s by the doorway, for when people come to visit.

“Hey, take one,” Jaebum offers the bag to Mark when he’s over for dinner one night. Bambam’s sitting on his lap, not-so-discreetly stealing all the sausage slices off his plate.

The other man raises a brow as he looks into the bag. “These are…Yugyeom’s?”

“Yeah,” Jaebum picks up a weather-beaten model train, pulling out a bunch of airplane and train drawings. “We thought, you know. We wanted you guys to have something to remember him by. You’re late, by the way, thanks for rejecting Jinyoung’s dinner requests - we already gave some to his friends and our neighbours from around the area and Jihyo took the fire engine, so you’re going to have to settle for one of these.”

Mark thinks about it, before taking a drawing of a monster truck wearing roller skates. He smiles, with something that looks like reassurance, but translates a lot better into relief. “Thanks.”

*

“…and I didn’t think the client meeting was going to stretch all the way until _then_ ,” Jinyoung complains through the phone, and Jaebum chuckles, absent-mindedly clearing out his inbox. “So now I’m out for Saturday morning, and someone needs to bring Youngjae to taekwondo lessons, so I was wondering if you could cab-…”

“It’s okay, I can drive,” Jaebum says, skimming through an email.

There’s a pause from the other end. “Oh. Are you-…you’re sure?”

Jaebum thinks about it. “Yeah. You should come back after the meeting and get some sleep.”

Another pause follows. “Okay,” Jinyoung says, gentle warmth audible even through the phone. “Come back early tonight. Youngjae brought back a drawing from kindergarten and you have about five hairs. Maybe you should use that hair tonic I bought, huh?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Jaebum rolls his eyes.

The general sounds of the office moving out for lunchtime begin just as he ends the call, later – Jaehyung thunders in noisily, armed with a packed lunch.

“Mark’s making a move on Sana,” he announces. “It’s either going to be very disgusting or very entertaining or _both_ , if Jackson shows up, and I suggest we move fast to get front row seats.”

Jaebum gets up, straightening the little panda plushie tucked snugly by his coffee mug, before smiling.

“Yeah, sounds like a plan.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> yay that's that
> 
> wrt the grandfather paradox, this was one of the earlier ideas i had in mind for it, and just happened to think of it again mostly when writing this ;; i drafted this for league as well, but kind of always had jjpgyeom in mind >.<
> 
> thank you for staying this long HAHA \o/ gyeom is...very important and i just hope he is loved forever and gets all the hugs in the world T_T
> 
> hope you guys have a great day~ comments and kudos will be appreciated and loved <3 
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> to k, a lovely angel, who left me with a lot of questions i haven't been able to answer   
>  and to k, her brother, who should remember that despite everything, his papa still loves him very much


End file.
